


Carpe Vinum

by thetimemoves (WriteOut)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Awesome Greg Lestrade, Developing Friendships, Drinking to Cope, Gen, Mentions of Blood, POV Sally Donovan, Pre-Canon, Sally Donovan Appreciation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-28
Updated: 2018-06-28
Packaged: 2019-05-16 16:09:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14814581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WriteOut/pseuds/thetimemoves
Summary: After a case goes sideways, Sally Donovan has a drink and a think.





	Carpe Vinum

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dogandmonkeyshow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dogandmonkeyshow/gifts).



> I enjoyed diving into Sally's POV! I hope this fits the bill for you, Dogandmonkeyshow.
> 
> My most excellent beta Splix and those I leaned on for support were priceless in getting this story off the ground. Thank you!

She couldn’t stop smelling blood.

There had been so much blood. Long after the scene had been photographed, the evidence collected, and the mutilated bodies bagged up and removed, and long after she removed herself, Sally Donovan couldn’t get away from the stench. It clung to her, churning her stomach. It wasn’t just the blood either. The victims had been cooking breakfast at the time of the attack and the reek of blood and other bodily fluids mingled with the odors of burnt bacon and spilt coffee. She been in the middle of making her own coffee when she got the call from DI Lestrade. The smell hit her as soon as she walked back into her own flat—triggering her gag reflex—and she immediately binned the cold pot. A scalding shower and a liberal application of lavender lotion hadn’t helped; the cloying stink wouldn’t go away. 

The wine was helping to dull her senses, however, so she kept drinking it. 

God, the blood. The scene had been saturated with it and now her mind was too.

She reached for the bottle on the coffee table. Quite a bit was gone already, but thankfully she had another bottle tucked away. Maybe even two. She had no plans to leave her couch for the rest of the evening, so why not indulge? She refilled her glass with a heavy hand and took a long swallow. It was a cheap white (not a red, not tonight) from Sainsbury’s, perfectly suitable.

That damn scene…the images wouldn’t leave her alone. Pools of blood on the floor. Splatters on the walls. Speckles on the ceilings. She’d never seen so much, even after two years with the Met. She swirled the wine in her glass and silently thanked herself for having the foresight to have it on hand.

The case was meant to be straightforward. Sally was investigating a string of burglaries in north Hampstead, her first major assignment as a newly-promoted DS. Her solid work had uncovered enough evidence to convince her superiors that the incidents were linked, and she was confident the suspects would soon be identified. Then this morning had happened, and she was no longer sure of anything. 

One week ago, Rebecca Norton reported a break-in at her flat. She had just ended a volatile relationship, she told the operator, and was positive it was her ex who had broken into her home while she was at work. A few items, including some of little value but great sentimental worth, were taken. Sally had talked to the DC who responded to the call; Rebecca Norton lived in the same section of Hampstead where the rash of burglaries had taken place and Sally needed to know if this fit the pattern or was an outlier. DC Stanley stated the ex-boyfriend had priors for assault and theft, and there were some similarities in the method of entry. However, the fact that Rebecca Norton immediately suspected her ex-boyfriend and that sentimental items only he would have known about were missing led her to dismiss this case as an ex-lover’s bit of petty revenge. A red flag had gone up when she heard of the ex’s record, but she pushed that aside. It just wasn't related to her cases. DC Stanley could deal with that suspect. Sally made a mental note to check in with Stanley in a week to see how that interview went and returned to her own suspect list.

Early this morning, Sally got a call from her DI that changed everything. Greg Lestrade was on his way to Rebecca Norton’s flat and the news was not good. A couple who lived just above her called 999 after they were woken by loud thumping noises and what they thought might have been a cut-off scream from below. The first responders discovered Rebecca and her sister—who lived with her—slaughtered. Rebecca’s ex, Cary Mathison, was the immediate suspect once the constables spoke with the neighbors, who told them they’d heard snatches of an argument the night before. It wasn’t the first fight they’d overheard, and they recognized Mathison’s voice. They assumed this morning was more of the same.

Sally could only imagine the terror in that flat. She was thankful the witnesses were concerned enough to call 999, but not enough to walk downstairs.

Cary Mathison fled before officers arrived and a team was dispatched to find him. Sally pulled up to the scene not long after Lestrade. There was already a large crowd forming in the street and she could hear whispers and sniffles as she ducked under the yellow caution tape and went up the front walk. Lestrade met her at the door and the two of them drifted through the small flat, almost speechless at the carnage the killer managed to inflict with a sharp knife in such a short period of time. Lestrade was a calm, steady presence in the face of such extreme violence and Sally did her best to follow his lead. It wasn't easy. When she learned the true nature of Mathison’s criminal history, Sally received a second shock: not only had he served multiple sentences for burglary and theft, but he also had a history of vicious assaults. He was a professional thief and clearly no stranger to violence. She had let him slip through her fingers and now two people were dead.

Sally poured some more wine.

Could she have done anything differently? She didn’t know what to think. She was confident at the time that Rebecca Norton’s break-in was unrelated to her own cases, but she was clearly wrong. Should she have dug deeper and disregarded her initial instinct with Mathison? She had dismissed him almost without a second thought, even with his record. If she hadn't, would Rebecca and her sister be alive right now? She didn’t want to think so, but she couldn’t get the notion out of her head. Sally prided herself on her instincts. They had always served her well. Her instincts got her through her probationary period as a constable without incident. They helped her ace the CID exams. They landed her as a DS in record time. She was new still in the CID, learning the ropes and finding her way, but that didn’t excuse her failures to so easily dismiss a possible suspect or to recognize the potential threat of danger to Rebecca Norton. 

She drained her glass and filled it. Again. The wine was doing its job and she could feel the tension finally start to leave her body.

Sally thought about calling her mother, needing a distraction and some sympathy, but hesitated. She loved her mum but knew better than to look to her for support when it came to her job. Her parents were shocked when she told them of her plans to join the Met after uni and never failed to express their disappointment once she followed through. Good girls from quiet villages became doctors or professors, maybe even artists or writers, but certainly not coppers walking a gritty city beat. Becoming a detective was her childhood dream and her parents could not dissuade her no matter how they tried (and still did); she persevered, worked harder than she ever had, and made it with accolades. Even now, they were still deeply unhappy with Sally’s career path, no matter how many times she told them she loved her job or about the good work she was doing. 

So no, calling Mum to cry about work was not the best idea. She blamed the wine for putting the idea in her head in the first place. Who next, her Year 13 girlfriend?

Still…an ugly little thought niggled at the back of her brain, loosened by the wine. Were her parents right, even a little? Was she fooling herself like they kept telling her? It wasn’t going to get any easier from here. There would be more violence, more blood, more chances to miss important details.

She took a drink. And then another. _Easy, girl_ , she told herself, and then poured the rest of the wine into her glass.

The silence in her flat was broken by the shrill ringing of her phone just then and Sally jerked, spilling wine on herself. She grabbed it and saw Greg Lestrade’s number flash on the screen. She shook her head to knock some of the fuzziness out, only partially succeeding.

“Donovan.” She cleared her throat and tried to sound alert.

“It’s Lestrade. I wanted to give you an update on the Norton case. Mathison turned himself in about an hour ago and he’s talking to anyone who’ll listen.”

Sally sat up straighter. “What? What’s happened?” 

“He just walked into the station and started confessing to the first person he saw.” Lestrade sounded more tired than she felt, if that was possible. His voice scratched over the line. “We know he didn’t go to his flat after killing the women—the team saw no sign of him when they got there—but we’re still trying to figure out where he’s been all day and what the hell he’s been up to.”

“He’s admitted he’s responsible?”  

“He says he didn’t mean to, but it was her fault. She was threatening to ruin him, he said, and he snapped.”

“ _She_ made him do it? Oh, what a bastard. What a bloody bastard.” Sally put her glass down and stood up. She wobbled a bit, then caught her balance against the back of the couch. 

“Christ, he hadn’t even changed out of the bloody clothing.” Greg was silent for a moment. “It’s not his first stabbing either.”  
  
Sally’s stomach roiled. “Not his first?”

“He got into an argument with a former associate over stolen goods and stabbed the man five times. The victim was lucky and survived but refused to testify. He’s a nasty piece of work, this Mathison. Intimidation appears to be one of his talents.” 

“I can’t believe he just walked in on his own. I really can’t.” She began to pace around her small living room, her false sense of relaxation giving way to the anxiety she had been trying to drink away all evening. 

“I know, I don’t get it either, but we’re damn lucky he did.” Greg paused again, and Sally had a feeling she wasn’t going to like what came out of his mouth next. “He admitted to all of it, Donovan. Not just the killings. He says he’s the one responsible for your break-ins.”

Sally didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. She stopped pacing and sank back down onto the couch. “Tell me.”

“He found out she called the police on him—maybe she told him herself or maybe he found out with Stanley called on him. I don’t know yet. Rebecca called Stanley a couple of days ago and told him she no longer wanted to bring charges. He tried to change her mind by telling her about Mathison’s criminal record, but she wouldn’t listen. She told him she just wanted it to go away. Stanley got the impression she already knew about Mathison’s past, at least some of it, because she wasn’t surprised.”

“So why did he go back? Why kill her? Why kill her sister? There was no bloody reason!”

“I’m still trying to figure that out. He probably told her there would be trouble for her if she brought charges against him. Maybe she threatened to go to the police about the other break-ins if he didn’t give her stuff back. He said he showed up at her place last night and they fought, but she let him stay the night. Is he lying? Probably. Whatever happened this morning to set him off, we just don’t know yet.”

“Dammit, I _knew_ I should have taken him more seriously from the beginning.” Her voice hitched. “I _knew_ it…” Sally rubbed her eyes, but the tears fell anyway. God, two people were dead. Two people. If she’d pulled Mathison in a week ago, she might have figured it all out and Rebecca and her sister wouldn’t be dead. They shouldn’t be dead, but she fucked up. Badly.

“I'll want to see your notes on him. I've already asked Stanley for his. Mathison’s saying he’s not the only one involved in the thefts and that he’ll give the others up if we can work with him on the killings. Fat chance there. We’ve stuck him in a cell for the night and will do formal interviews in the morning, so be prepared.”

“Yes, sir.” She reached out and picked up the glass of wine.   

“Look, Donovan. You think you made a mistake. Everyone makes them at some point. I did as a rookie and god knows I’m not perfect now.”

“I can’t imagine you in my shoes, sir.” Sally took a gulp of wine that Lestrade no doubt heard.

Lestrade snorted. “Oh, you’d be surprised. I was young, ready to kick arse and put the bad guys away. I had a few big lessons waiting for me.”

“Those sound like the kind of stories I need to hear.”

“You do, eh? Hmm… I’ll keep that in mind.”

Sally could hear the smile in Lestrade’s voice and some of her anxiety began to lift, just a little. "I'll hold you to that, sir."

“I know you’re beating yourself up over this and you need to stop. You did what you thought was right.”

Sally was quiet.

“You couldn’t predict what Mathison was going to do. It’s going to happen again. We do our best, but sometimes it isn’t good enough and things fall apart. You just keep on going. You have good instincts and you’ll learn to listen to them more carefully.”

“But— 

“Listen, the team trusts you. _I_ trust you. You’ve already proven your worthiness to me. You’re a good detective, Sally, and you’re going to get even better.”

“Sir—thank you. I appreciate that.” She squeezed her eyes shut and a few more tears trickled out. “More than I can say.”

“Try to get some sleep tonight, yeah? Don’t drown your sorrows. We’ve got a lot of work ahead of us. We might have the bastard, but we’re just getting started and I need you at your best.”

“I will, sir. Thanks for filling me in.”

Sally waited until Lestrade grunted a goodbye before ending the call. God, her head hurt.

She replayed Lestrade’s words and did her best to absorb them. He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t disappointed in her. She had enough disappointment for the two of them, though, so that was fine. Lestrade was right; she did have good instincts. She didn’t trust herself much at the moment, but he did, and she would remind herself of that when she needed to. He was an excellent cop. An even better man, she was quickly learning. She could do worse than to learn from the example he set and to take full advantage of his guidance. She made a mistake with this case, a terrible one, and it would haunt her for a long time. She didn’t want it to define her.

She swallowed the last of the wine and contemplated the glass. Sally pushed herself off the couch and went into her small kitchen, glass in one hand and bottle in the other. She rinsed the glass out and put it in the sink. The empty bottle went into the bin. There was an unopened bottle on the counter. She stared at it for a moment, then picked it up and stuck it in the cabinet, behind the biscuits. She didn’t need it anymore, not tonight.

Sally took a deep breath and no longer smelled blood.

**Author's Note:**

> Carpe Vinum - Seize the Wine


End file.
